Coeur Isolé
by American Latte
Summary: I never meant for this to happen. Rated T for now, rating will go up. Slash. Darker themes. I desperately need a BETA reader!
1. Cassé

A/N: I don't own anything. Just my ideas. Which are, in this, case...dark.  
I've never written something like this before. I hope I can handle it. It's sad and sweet, I suppose. You be the judge!

Mind you, this is just a prologue. Testing the waters.

It's like it's all you can think about. I mean, I try not to, but really. Do I deserve this? Why did it happen to me? Not that I wish it on someone else, I wish it just didn't happen to me. I jump at the slightest noises. My skin crawls when someone touches me. I can't sleep without the lights on.

It would be different if Dylan were here. It wouldn't have happened in the first place. I miss him so much. I miss his smile, his hair, his hands, his hugs, his kisses. I've cheated on him. I didn't want to, though. So, was it really cheating? Yes, having sex with another person is cheating.

God, why is this happening? How am I supposed to eplain to him that I can barely hold my lunch down when Paige touches me? And, nevermind when he touches me when he gets home for a break in two weeks. Oh god, it's happening, coming, burning, expelling.

I haven't even eaten anything today, how can I be throwing up so much? I'm happy no one else is here, otherwise I'd be getting grilled so hard and I just might slip and tell one of them...

NO. I cannot tell. This is disgusting, vile. I am. I can't get him off me, I can't. I shower with scolding hot water, feels like fire on my skin. Sometimes when I step out my skin is red and scratchy. When I have no more hot water, I use the cold. I can freeze him off, either.

The vibrating of my phone brings me out of my stupor. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, pathetic. The screen reads, "Dylan." God, I want him here.

"Hello?" I say, and I don't mean for it to come out like that. I sound like I'm dying.

"Marco? Are you sick or something? You don't sound so good." He asks. I hear the concern dripping in hid voice. I'm so sorry, sweetheart.

"Yeah, no. I mean I'm fine. How're you?" I ask and I know I can't fool him much longer.

"I just got out, I wanted to talk to you. I miss you. I can't wait to see you." He tells me.

"Yeah?" I say and I'm smiling like an idiot. I feel like a 14 year old girl with a stud quaterback boyfriend thats getting sweet talked for all she's worth.

"Yeah. I can't wait to touch you again. Feel you. I miss your body." He says.

"Um, How was practice?" I ask. Please take the bait Dylan, change the subject.

"It was okay. I wish you were here. My back is so sore from those stretches. I love your massages." I know what he is doing. I can't do this. I can't picture my boyfriend. Because all I see is IT. I see his face over me. And I feel his hands touching me, so rough and unforgiving.

"Hey, Dylan I have to go. Paige is home. Stuff...for, uh, homework." And I slam the phone down. Again, I feel the burning.

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Please review!


	2. Flâner

A/N: Second chapter. Still short. But, don't worry. Some will be and others will be longer. Enjoy!

"Marco Del Rossi, better luck next time." Mr. Roche handed me back my failing physics paper. My grades are starting to slip. This isn't the first one. And God, where has two weeks gone? Dylan will be here tomorrow.

It's still on me. I can't get it off. I'm not eating, I'm not sleeping, and I'm not studying. I take as many showers as I can. Hot water, cold water. I can't wait to see Dylan, but I don't want to see him at all. How will I explain to my boyfriend, who hasn't had sex in 8 months that I can't stand to be touched? How am I going to explain that I'm scared to be alone? That I can't sleep without the lights on? That I can't eat?

Walking home, I feel the eyes on me. I feel people looking at me. I think they know and they are eyeing me, disgusted. The logic has no base in reality, I keep telling myself. Still, I feel the holes in my back.

I like to walk. It's exercise and it gives me a chance to think. Before he left, I'd always go with Dylan. We'd hold hands and talk and not realize that we'd walked a mile, two, three. I smile to myself at this memory. I liked it better in high school. Things were so much simpler.

I don't even realize that I've walked the entire way home. I'm here, standing on my porch. No one else is though and I don't want to go inside. I hate this house. I do not want to live here but there is no other option.

"_You want anything? I've got water." I say peering into the living room where he was._

"_Nah, I'm fine." He says back and I walk in and sit down across from him._

"_So, where should we start? I'm having a lot of trouble with chapter 8." I say opening my textbook and pointing to a page._

"_Yeah, I thought it was pretty easy, but what don't you get?" He says standing and coming and sitting beside me. The close proximity is making me more uncomfortable by the minute._

"_Just this." I say laying the book on the table and moving to sit in the other chair across from it._

I feel acid coming up my throat, how could I be so stupid?! I go into the kitchen and drink a glass of water quickly. I feel my stomach settle. The clock read 4:48 in blue numbers. Ellie will be here soon. I feel bad about keeping this secret from her. I love her more than anything, except Dylan. I feel like I am lying to her. I do not want her to think badly of me, though. I have been contemplating telling her, but I don't know how she'll react.

"Home!" I hear her keys drop to the counter "What's up, Marco?"

"Oh, um, nothing." I reply.

"Something wrong?" She asks. God, I so desperately want to tell you. To get this off my chest.

"Um, no. Nothing." No such luck.

"Okay? Well, if you decide there is, call me. I'm going out later and I won't be home early, hopefully." She smiles and runs up the stairs eagerly.

I pick up a book from her collection. The one she keeps all of her most valuable books in. I decide that I will close my eyes, pick a random one and occupy my mind.

I pull one, a blue cover with a picture of a bracelet on it. I start reading. It should be good if Ellie deemed it suitable to spend money on it.

"_My name was Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered on December 6, 1976…"_

A/N:Figure out Ellie's book! I smell ironyyyy!


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